


Rolling in the Dew

by Blue_Sparkle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley has whatever you want him to, Dashing Rogue Crowley, Food Kink, M/M, Milkmaid Aziraphale, Other, Roleplay, Smut, handjob, it's milk in this case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle
Summary: As part of a Heavenly assignment Aziraphale works on a farm as a milkmaid. Country life is idyllic and peaceful, but sadly a little bit boring.So when a dashing rogue in the shape of a certain demon makes a nightly appearance he simply has to take the chance to have some fun.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 414





	Rolling in the Dew

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a vague time in the 18th-19th century, Aziraphale presents as a woman but uses he/him pronouns, as I like to imagine that his selfperception doesn't change regardless of what his physical appearance is. 
> 
> Inspired by this art by micahlat: https://twitter.com/micah_lat/status/1211302070654885888 (it's nsfw)
> 
> Title inspired by a folksong of the same name, since milkmaids seem to have inspired a lot of those
> 
> Many thanks to summerofspock for helping me clean this up!

The night was the peaceful and mild kind of night that deepest summer brought along. The moon shone so bright that Aziraphale could walk easily from the little farm house he lived in to the cows’ barn, the hem of his skirt just barely brushing over the damp dewy grass. It would be foggy tomorrow morning, he could just feel it. 

He was alone at the little Marleigh dairy farm, just a short trip off Aylsham, with the family travelling on important business. The farm had been practically blessed by good fortune recently, with none of their many livestock anything less than perfectly healthy, and their creams and cheeses turning out incredibly well and fetching a good price at the market. Not to mention the wonderful addition to their little family and farmhands, the kindhearted and lovely Miss Aziraphale; their now invaluable milkmaid.

She was good with the animals, her skills in preparing various cheeses unparalleled, and she was quick in picking up any possible skills they might need of her. The picture of pastoral beauty, Mr and Mrs Marleigh wondered at how such a lovely woman was yet unwed and hadn’t a single suitor, but they accepted Aziraphale’s explanation of her lifelong wish to be a nun, admiring how she’d given up her dream to help her family when she was still a girl. Her marital status was easily explained by this.

Aziraphale didn’t truly work as hard as any human in his position would have. Heavy buckets of milk or cow feed weighed nothing to him; any cattle he approached was miraculously calm regardless of his inexperienced touch; and even if he lost track of time his cooking always turned out exactly as he wanted. But he gave the appearance of working hard, and he looked too lovely and _right_ as a milkmaid for anyone to question what he was doing.

It was an unusual assignment for what he was up to these days. Blessing various families and pastoral communities far away from any large city or important personality. Something about helping the towns grow into lovely areas that spread a general sense of happiness and good will. Remind humans of what was wonderful about this existence and that they needed to work hard for rewards. 

Aziraphale wasn’t used to living so close to humans, especially needing to pretend that he was sleeping and taking care of himself rather than reading or doing pretty much anything else with his time. He supposed it was alright for the opportunity to live the ideal of a romantic farm life.

With the Marleighs gone for a week or two Aziraphale took care of all chores with a quick miracle, going about his duties only when he felt like it, taking small baskets of fresh fruit and cheese to eat on a field overlooking his cows, reading under trees, enjoying the fresh air. It was like a little vacation, exciting in its peaceful nature.

After two days of this he did grow a little bored, and though his miracles would ensure that the farm ran as smoothly as a single person could reasonably manage, he did feel like he ought to check up on things.

With nobody there to question why a milkmaid would walk the farm in the middle of the night Aziraphale checked on the perimeter of the farm house and the pigs living in the yard. The horse was happily asleep, as were the chickens when Aziraphale opened their coop. The cows were all out on the pasture, asleep and looking quite picturesque in the moonlight. Everything was as it should be, and Aziraphale made his way over to the barn with a hum, already wondering about what he would do with the rest of the night. 

The wooden door opened soundlessly, the hinges freshly oiled. Darkness was no obstacle to Aziraphale, and even in the shadows where the moonlight didn’t reach into he could see everything perfectly. The barn was still inside, nothing seemed out of place or broken, just as Aziraphale expected. As he walked deeper he wondered briefly if he should go looking for the cats he suspected had started living inside the barn, just to see if they might enjoy some milk. Then his eyes fell on something that he had decidedly not put into the barn himself. 

It was a small basket, one that Aziraphale sometimes carried smaller cheeses in, and one he occasionally took along for a picnic. Currently it held a loaf of bread, a little bit of sausage, and a few apples. A clay jug sat next to it, one that Aziraphale had seen in the kitchen a few times but had never used himself. 

Something further into the barn creaked, a ladder from the sounds of it. Aziraphale tensed, staring into the shadows with a frown. Should he just go about investigating as usual, or act as an actual human woman in his position would? He could walk forwards boldly or feign fear and sneak further in? Running away would probably look the most natural to other humans, but Aziraphale could always erase a few minutes worth of memory, make them fuzzy enough for his actions not to be questioned. 

With that in mind, Aziraphale walked further looking all around to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. 

“Hello?” he asked, voice firm. “Is anybody there?”

For a few moments, nothing happened at all. Then the creaking started back up from where Aziraphale knew the hay storage to be, followed by steps coming towards him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but seeing the person as familiar as his own face step out of the shadows hadn’t even been on the list. 

“You?” Aziraphale gasped, delight and annoyance warring in his chest as Crowley grinned at him. 

He was dressed in simple breeches and a shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of his chest, a sight Aziraphale hadn’t been graced with in quite some time. For once he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, revealing his beautiful eyes that were narrowed with a smile. He kept his hair long these days and it fell down to his shoulders in waves. A dusty jacket hung limply from his fingers but Crowley tossed it to the side as he approached Aziraphale. 

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed, remembering himself. He shouldn’t be happy to see Crowley on the property of his current human employers, or at all, really. He ought to be angry about the trespassing, surely, not get excited over the company. “Weren’t you up north, messing with the factories in that city of yours?”

“Nah,” Crowley said smugly, closing the distance between them and starting to circle Aziraphale. He could feel the demon’s eyes on him and shivered at the thought that he was like prey being circled and appraised by a predator. “Done with that. Humans are mucking it up just fine without my help.”

“Then what business could you have around here?”

“Hm. You know how there’s a prison just a little bit away from here? Let’s say the guards needed a little tempting to accept a bribe and ignore the disappearance of a handful of men along with me.”

Aziraphale blinked once, then huffed and twirled around to face Crowley again. 

“Are you saying you let a bunch of horrid criminals loose? And you’re an escaped convict as well?”

Crowley shrugged. 

“They’re not violent or anything. Just some poor sods making poor decisions and some other bastards trying to get rich quick. Nice reminder about why isolation is bad, isn’t it?”

He looked at Aziraphale properly then, eyes moving over all of his body. 

“You’re pretending to be a rough thug, aren’t you?” Aziraphale snapped, feeling his cheeks heat up as Crowley’s eyes paused on his chest. He had a shawl to cover most of his decolletage, but he did know how nice his simple bodice made everything there look. Crowley had told him often enough how well he looked in this configuration with this style of clothing. 

“And you’re pretending to be a pretty little milkmaid, aren’t you?”

He moved closer, reaching up to toy with a lock of hair that had escaped Aziraphale’s cap. Crowley’s stare was hungry now, and Aziraphale felt heat pool in his stomach. No. This shouldn’t be happening. Yes, he was bored out here sometimes, but he really shouldn’t even let Crowley stay. He should be chasing him off. 

“What of it?”

“Really had to pick the prettiest possible thing to impersonate, didn’t you? Wouldn’t a shepherd have suited you more? All those _biblical_ connotations?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Aziraphale said, standing firm despite the shivers of delight as Crowley’s knuckles brushed down the side of his neck lightly. He needed to stay firm, needed to get Crowley out of the farmland and then maybe complain at him once they were both in London again. 

“You are a horrible escaped criminal and I am the current guard of this homestead. In this situation I would be the one chasing you off, and you really should be going.”

Crowley laughed. 

“A rakish fellow and a pretty little maid, all lonely and bored? Aziraphale. Angel. I _know_ you read those dreadfully cheap stories. The ones with terribly salacious content? Don’t you think those would have the situation end differently?”

Aziraphale felt his entire face flush at that, legs trembling in anticipation. Crowley was so close he could practically taste the intoxicating scent of burned sugar and heat. He couldn’t possibly be propositioning him _here_ of all places? Oh but it _had_ been an awfully long time. 

“Not every lonely woman would jump at the first opportunity to do something indecent with a random man she’ll never see again,” Aziraphale replied, averting his eyes and tilting his head up. 

“Even if this might be her only chance to taste the pleasures he might provide?” Crowley asked, his breath hot against Aziraphale’s ear. He barely contained a moan as Crowley’s fingers slid under his shawl, touching the skin there. 

“She might have standards.” 

“He might be quite the considerate lover.”

Crowley’s other hand had settled on Aziraphale’s waist, stroking his side gently and somehow the touch was nearly driving him wild even through the thick material of his bodice. Aziraphale let out a shivering breath, seeing the way Crowley’s smile widened, realizing that his flimsy attempt to do what he probably should was already crumbling. 

His hands reached up to clutch at Crowely’s sleeves, halting his motions. 

“Then maybe he would be allowed to take care of her.”

Crowley grinned, and then Aziraphale was suddenly lying against hay bales, a soft blanket that wasn’t there before cushioning him. Crowley was above him, laughing and undoing the ties of Aziraphale’s cap to let his hair fall freely. 

“Crowley!” he hissed, protesting the rough treatment. “Can’t we at least go find a more suitable location? A bed perhaps?”

“For rolling in the dew makes a milkmaid fair,” Crowley sang, fingers combing through the angel’s hair.

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush at the familiar melody, the tune of which followed him along when he passed some especially bold lads at a market. Of course Crowley knew those lewd songs.

Sensing Aziraphale’s indignation, Crowley grinned down at him.

“Didn’t you know the sorts of fantasies milkmaids feature in before you took this job, angel? Such pretty girls, hardworking and loving the simple things in life. Of course one might be interested.”

“Oh do shut up and get on with it,” Aziraphale grumbles, angling his hips up to try and rub against Crowley. 

Another grin and Crowley’s grip in his hair tightened as he finally deigned to kiss Aziraphale. It was hot and sloppy and Aziraphale let out a groan of relief. With Crowley’s hands and mouth on him, he couldn’t quite care about decency or playing the part of a pious milkmaid, let alone an angel of the Lord. 

“Being such a simple woman on a farm in the middle of nowhere looks good on you,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s lips, running his hands over the rough wool bodice and making the angel try and squirm up against him, trying to push his hand lower and between his legs. 

“Uhuh,” Aziraphale got out between gasps, one hand clutching at Crowley’s shirt the other wrapping around his wrist to try and push it down, lower, urge him to stick it under his skirts already. 

“Then again, you always prefer being a posh brat when you change your corporation like this,” Crowley went on, easily slipping his hand from Aziraphale’s grasp to fondle his shawl instead. His eyes flashed and all at once Aziraphale remembered his silly sentiment in picking the thing. 

“Say, isn’t this a little too fancy for a simple farm girl?”

The shawl was old, looking like some nice item that was perhaps passed on within the family from mother to daughter for a few generations at least. But this particular shawl had been purchased in a rather upscale tailor’s shop in Barcelona, selected for how well it matched the angel’s preferred wardrobe. It wasn’t often that Aziraphale received gifts from Crowley, and he’d owned this one for nearly two centuries. He hadn’t even thought twice about taking it along as he got ready for the current mission, as he’d used it in private the second it was even just mildly cold. His cheeks flushed knowing that Crowley most certainly was aware of the sentiment now. 

“It’s an heirloom,” Aziraphale managed to say and then gasped as Crowley tugged the ends of the shawl free from his bodice. 

“Really?” Crowley laughed. “I think you’re just too used to the role of a fancy upper class lady and can’t ever let things not go your way.”

“That’s entirely untrue,” Aziraphale protested, pouting despite the way this would make him look like the brat Crowley had accused him of being. “It’s just so much nicer for everyone if things go the exact way they should!”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed and Aziraphale squirmed slightly. 

“And weren’t we about to do something? You have yet to show me a good time as you promised. There’s other ways I could be spending my night if I wanted to get off, if you aren’t willing to oblige.”

Aziraphale knew that he had maybe needled the demon a little too much, especially as he was flipped on his side and both his arms were pulled behind his back. He made an undignified yelp as he was nearly rolled off the blanket and into the prickly hay, and then again when Crowley wrapped and tied the shawl around his wrists before rolling him back onto his back.

“How about we test just how patient you are when somebody else is in control? See how long it’ll take you to beg,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale huffed. He pulled at the shawl experimentally. It would be easy to snap his fingers and be rid of it, though mircales and sex weren’t something he liked to mix too much, and he could easily tear through it though he’d hate ruining one of his favourite accessories. 

“I can be patient,” he repeated instead. “Do what you will, demon.”

Crowley smiled softly, so overly fond and gentle that Aziraphale briefly felt his heart clench, wanting to be kissed more than he needed the demon’s touch. Then yellow eyes narrowed with a wicked grin and Crowley pulled a small pocket knife out of his belt. 

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Crowley, you can’t just-” Aziraphale shrieked, seeing the knife lower to his bodice, squirming again. “You can’t just _ruin my dress_!”

“I’ll fix it later, angel,” Crowley said easily and cut through the laces with an flick of his wrist. Aziraphale huffed and flushed, trying very hard to ignore how his cunt throbbed at the renewed wave of lust that action had caused. He couldn’t let Crowley know how enticing this rakish behaviour was. It would just give him ideas. He bit his lip as he was manhandled and the bodice was slipped from his body, followed by his apron and skirt until he was left in nothing but his shift and knitted stockings. Crowley’s hands were groping him, deliciously hot through the reduced layers of fabric but still not touching him exactly where he wanted, only close enough to make his breath stop in anticipation for a few seconds. 

“Hmm, you really are pretty like this,” Crowley mused and ran his hands over Aziraphale’s sides, thumbs digging into his skin. “I could just drink you up.”

His palm rested against Aziraphale’s belly for a moment, squeezing just enough to make Aziraphale cry out. 

“Crowley-” he whined, trying to wiggle up on the blanket to bring Crowley’s hand lower. He couldn’t beg, he _wouldn’t_. 

Instead of complying Crowley dragged his hand up, cupping one of Aziraphale’s breasts with an interested hum. 

“You’re always so soft, angel,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle against what was exposed of Aziraphale’s chest, too light and brief to really do anything for him but tease. 

“You like it,” Aziraphale gasped, eyes fluttering shut. That gentle touch wasn’t what he wanted right now but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t occasionally crave this when thinking of his dear Crowley. 

“Indeed.”

A sharp tug and Aziraphale’s shift was pulled down enough to expose his chest fully, baring it to the cool night air and Crowley’s appreciative gaze. 

“Mind if I have a taste of the goods, Miss Milkmaid?” 

Crowley leaned over Aziraphale and reached for something just outside his view. When he came back he was holding the jug Aziraphale had spotted in the picnic basket earlier, and vaguely remembered being a little further away. Apparently he was the only one trying to keep minor miracles out of their sex life. 

He watched, lips parted, as Crowley uncorked the jug with his teeth and licked over the rim. 

“Sweet. Bet it’d taste all the sweeter with angel mixed in.”

Crowley tilted the jug and Aziraphale cried out as unnaturally cool milk spilled over his skin, his nipples stiffening at the chill. It was an obscene sight even before Crowley wrapped one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders to hold him and leaned down to run his furnace hot tongue over Aziraphale’s breasts to lap it up again. 

The icy feeling of liquid running down his chest and Crowley’s clever tongue hot in the wake of it was too much, knocking the breath out of Aziraphale with a moan as he kicked out involuntarily. He knew his chest area was sensitive no matter what he did with his corporation, but what Crowley was doing went beyond what any self exploration had ever gotten close to. Aziraphale couldn’t even pay attention to what exactly was happening, only dimly aware of Crowley occasionally taking up the jug to spill more milk. 

“Crowley! Ah, come on, do-” Aziraphale’s hips bucked up as a decidedly inhuman tongue circled his nipple. “Hmmm yes, darling just-”

Crowley’s free hand finally moved down, sliding over Aziraphale’s body and he nearly sobbed when Crowley cupped his cunt through the fabric of his shift. Fingers dug into him briefly, but then Aziraphale cried out again in disappointment. 

“Get your hand on me,” Aziraphale whined, too far gone to care if he sounded petulant or bratty. 

“But it is on you, see?” 

Crowley’s fingers squeezed down and Aziraphale threw his head back, unable to grind up with how firmly Crowley was holding him. 

“You’re squirming too much, angel, best if I hold you for a little bit.”

Aziraphale cursed and complained and only barely bit back his need to beg. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Crowley’s mouth on him was enough to make him dizzy, made him forget where he was and why and nearly made him forget his pride. 

“Good girl,” Crowley said after what felt like an eternity of sweet torture. He leaned down to kiss Aziraphale and his lips tasted sweet. “You deserve a little more, don’t you?”

Aziraphale’s head lolled to the side, a nod seeming too complicated at the moment. He watched as Crowley finally _finally_ hitched his shift up and reached under it. The first touch of Crowley’s fingers on his lips made Aziraphale let out a sigh in relief. It only took him a few seconds to realize that Crowley wasn’t doing anything more than rub at him like that, not even trying to part him let alone dip his fingers in where Aziraphale wanted them to be. 

“That’s hardly what I wanted you to do!” Aziraphale whined, choking on his words as Crowley pressed two fingers to the outside of his cunt, rubbing at his center indirectly and excruciatingly well. 

“Is this not enough of a reward?” Crowley asked with an innocent smile. “Do you want more? How about this?”

He ground the heel of his hand over Aziraphale’s clit, not actually touching. 

“Fuck!” Aziraphale hissed, legs clamping around Crowley’s arm. 

“Now that’s not a language one would expect to hear from a lovely little thing like you.”

Crowley stilled completely, his arm tight around Aziraphale’s shoulders and not moving at all until the angel finally managed to unclench his legs and spread them. 

“There you go, good angel.”

Aziraphale sobbed and moaned as Crowley picked up his pace again, touching but not fully and driving him absolutely wild. The speed was hurried and firm, making Aziraphale’s breasts move from the force of it as he trembled and twitched in Crowley’s arms. It was very much the pace Aziraphale used when he wanted to get off quickly and with satisfying intensity - if only Crowley’s fingers were actually _on_ him, in him, fucking deep and at the punishing pace Aziraphale craved and needed. 

He was vaguely aware of Crowley’s lips on his cheek, of praise being murmured into his ear, only he couldn’t focus on anything but the sharply cresting pleasure pain of not finding any release, of needing just a tiny bit more than what he was getting. His legs were tensing up and scrambling for purchase as his arms were still tied, kicking up hay all around them. Some tiny shred of Aziraphale’s dignity protested his silly little shrieks and the decidedly disgraceful pleas that nearly stumbled over his lips. 

He only needed to beg, and maybe then Crowley would finally release him, let him finish. 

“Crowley, Crowley,” he whined, tears threatening to spill. “ _Crowley_ oh g- oh _god, please_ Crowley, touch me!”

In the low light Crowley’s grin looked like the baring of fangs. 

“Blasphemy and begging in one? I must be getting better,” he leaned over then, his hair brushing Aziraphale’s skin. “You only needed to ask, my angel.”

He stilled again, kissing Aziraphale deeply and stealing any chance of catching his breath. Then _finally_ his fingers parted Aziraphale’s labia and dipped in, sliding in all the way easily with how soaking wet the angel was by now. When Crowley’s thumb nudged against Aziraphale’s clit to tease at it lightly he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The night air filled with the obscene slick sound of Crowley’s fingers and Aziraphale’s unabashed moans. It couldn’t have taken more than a minute until Aziraphale forgot how to breathe with the weight of his orgasm, shaking and tensing up uncontrollably, Crowley’s arms keeping him steady all the way, his fingers stroking him through it to wring as much pleasure as possible from him. 

“There you go, you did so very well for me,” Crowley soothed, kissing the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth sweetly. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, Aziraphale catching his breath and getting used to feeling returning to his shaky legs. The shawl was tugged free from its knot and his arms were released, and Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley who was watching him near shyly now. 

“Was that good?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale managed a breathless laugh and pushed Crowley down onto his back, straddling him with one easy move. 

“My, my, what do you think Mr Convict? Do I look like I had a good time?”

Aziraphale knew that he was a little bit of a mess, his hair falling over his back in mussed up curls and his shift hanging all wrong, chest still exposed to the cool air, skin flushed. Crowley made a desperate noise in the back of his throat and put his hands on Aziraphale’s hips, whether to steady him or just to hold. 

“You certainly seemed to not care for anything else at the end there.”

His eyes flicked down to Aziraphale’s chest and then up at him, lips pressed together nervously. 

“It was wonderful,” Aziraphale assured him, leaning down to kiss him sweetly and smiling when Crowley immediately relaxed. “I had so much fun and you _are_ rather good at teasing. Perhaps let me know if you plan on this kind of lovely interruption when I’m on a mission, the anticipation would make it all the better.”

Crowley tried to chase Aziraphale’s lips when the angel straightened again, moving out of reach. He grinned and petted his legs gently. 

“Isn’t that the whole point with the play pretend? That it’s as close to real as it could be. A lovely little milkmaid about to be ravished by a handsome stranger wouldn’t know her luck.”

Aziraphale pondered that for a moment, wondering whether the anticipation would be worth losing out on that element of surprise. 

“I’ll consider it and let you know before next time,” he promised instead, shifting where he sat to rub against Crowley slightly. 

“Now how about we go on? You haven’t gotten your fill yet, I believe.”

Crowley let out a soft breath and shook his head. 

“Can we do it somewhere else? Bed? You’ve got to have a bed, you mentioned something about it, yes?”

He sounded close to a whine, and Aziraphale brushed his fingers through his hair with a soft smile. He did have one, though it now found itself much more comfortable than it had been before. 

“Of course, my darling. I can invite you to my bed after how nice you’ve been to me tonight.” 

He stood on shaky legs and pulled Crowley up, trying not to smile at how soft his demon now looked, all traces of his role forgotten after the first round. Aziraphale didn’t really mind this; he did enjoy having his Crowley just as he was and not just playing along in a game. He looked down at himself, chest and shoulders exposed and bodice torn. 

“Oh bother, let me fix that first,” he grumbled, but Crowley was quicker. 

In a moment Aziraphale’s shawl was draped around his shoulders in a way that made him presentable again, and Crowley gathered up his jacket and Aziraphale’s clothes, putting them in the picnic basket, then offering Aziraphale his arm. 

“Let me escort you back, miss,” he grinned and bowed gallantly, making Aziraphale blush despite what they’d already been up to just minutes ago. 

“How kind of you, sir,” he replied, slipping his arm under Crowley’s with a demure smile, ignoring that he was practically in his underthings. 

They walked out into the moonlight together and back up towards the farmhouse, unhurried and smiling at each other. Aziraphale shivered and pressed his body closer to Crowley’s as if chasing warmth. They’d have a wonderful night to look forward to, and one or two days of idyllic farm life before anyone else returned. 

He would certainly make the most of it.


End file.
